Is LaDainian Chicken?

I clearly remember during an open gym session in high school a crowd forming around a guy who had apparently just fallen hard on his ankle. Arriving in time to get a spot in the gathered circle, I also recall two snapshots from that scene: the white of a shattered ankle bone protruding through his skin, and the pained breaths he forced through his twisted mouth, oddly foreshadowing similar sounds my wife would make while delivering our first child. Someone finally said once the circle broke, “Go ahead and scream dude…your ankle is broke for God’s sake,” which seemed not only sensible but also appropriate since we all felt like screaming ourselves after witnessing the bloody wreckage.

What compelled him to maintain his composure to the point of convulsing was an embedded view of toughness that demands one never show signs of pain or let on that something is wrong. Growing up in an athletic family, I understood this idea as well as anyone—never, under any circumstances, show an opponent that you’re hurt. Death should be the only event that causes one to miss a practice or sit out a game, and even then you’re guilty until the coroner’s certificate is in hand.

So my background leads me to have high expectations for athletes these days, especially when so much money is paid for what is essentially participation in a game. While it may be reminiscent of “grandpa walking twelve miles in barefoot through three feet of snow”, it is not exaggeration to remind ourselves that “some poor slob making six bucks an hour paid seventy bucks to see you play today…the least you can do is compete through a little bruise.” Fans are fanatics and expect heroes to do heroic things: catch wet balls, hit un-hittable pitches, sink 70 foot putts, play with broken bones. If you’re big enough to be bought at FatHead, you’re big enough to do the impossible—just ask any ticket buying fan for confirmation of this truth.

But there is a point, one we miss on many different fronts these days, where the game becomes more serious than a man’s life, where toughness becomes foolishness, where giving it your all literally means cashing in the rest of your life. Consider guys like Earl Campbell and others who can’t walk without significant aid whether they think it was worth it to keep going long after their body said to stop just so Ticket Buyer Boy would think he is a man. Playing through pain is one thing—playing when your body is broke is entirely another, and we shouldn’t hold it against an athlete for deciding that he sits this one out.

From what I’ve seen of LaDainian Tomlinson, he isn’t one to avoid hits or take plays off; otherwise, there might be more to say regarding his decision to not play against the Patriots on Sunday. It would certainly be difficult to support a man who abandons his team in the biggest game of the year on a day when they most need his talent on the field. But it is hardly difficult to accept along with this man that sometimes there are limits, in spite of what popular American mythology says, to what a man can do. And sometimes the difference between foolishness and wisdom is knowing when to put pride to the side and take your place on IR.

Leave LaDainian alone. If we catch him dogging it, we might justify complaining like spurned fans expecting maximum effort. But until then, don’t criticize a man for thinking of life beyond the season and the beyond the game. The potential damage is not worth it.

Editorial